The diplomatic world got a jolt this week with an announcement that felt more like reality TV than international relations. The President, apparently tired of the glacial pace of traditional trade negotiations, demanded that countries submit their "best offers" for potential trade deals by Wednesday.
Yes, Wednesday. This week.
I've covered international trade for nearly a decade, and I've never seen anything quite like it. Trade negotiations typically move at the pace of continental drift—methodical, ponderous affairs involving rooms full of sleep-deprived bureaucrats arguing over dairy quotas and steel tariffs until someone finally cries uncle (usually around 4 a.m. on the final scheduled day).
But POTUS is apparently taking a different approach. Call it the swipe-right method of international commerce.
"It's essentially Tinder for trade deals," one European diplomat told me, requesting anonymity because they weren't authorized to speak candidly about being utterly bewildered. "We're supposed to, what... write a seductive trade profile and hope America likes us best?"
The administration's strategy seems to borrow from auction theory—a sealed-bid approach where everyone submits their offer simultaneously. It's game theory in action, though nobody's quite sure what game they're playing. Or what the rules are. Or whether there's a prize at the end beyond not getting yelled at on social media.
What's particularly strange (fascinating? concerning?) is the notion that complex trade relationships spanning decades can be distilled into a single "best offer." These agreements typically run thousands of pages, covering everything from tariff schedules to intellectual property rights to whether negotiators get still or sparkling water in their hotel rooms.
Markets, naturally, reacted positively. Because of course they did.
Look, I'm not saying there isn't method in this madness. Perhaps this approach aims to shatter diplomatic inertia—forcing countries to lead with their most generous terms rather than engaging in the usual negotiating dance where everyone starts with ridiculous demands and inches toward the middle over months or years.
It's also possible this is merely theater for domestic consumption. Sound and fury signifying... well, not nothing exactly, but perhaps less than the headline suggests.
I reached out to several trade experts who expressed varying degrees of confusion and amusement.
"Trade agreements aren't DoorDash," said Professor Elaine Kamarck at the Brookings Institution. "You can't just place an order and expect delivery in 30 minutes or less."
The whole scenario brings to mind the UK's previous "agreement to agree"—a document that essentially said "we'll definitely do something substantive later." It was the diplomatic equivalent of matching on a dating app but never actually scheduling a date.
The thing is (and this part matters), trade agreements affect millions of jobs and billions in commerce. Treating them like speed dating might make for catchy headlines, but substantive agreements typically require painstaking attention to detail.
Will countries actually submit meaningful proposals by Wednesday? Will those proposals lead to actual deals? Or is this just another fascinating chapter in the increasingly bizarre story of modern economic diplomacy?
I'll be watching closely. And probably making some popcorn.
